


trying again

by fluffysfics



Series: postscripts [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, these two finally talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: Spurred on by guilt and hope, the Master rescues the Doctor from the prison she’s been trapped in. He doesn’t exactly get a welcome reception, but...he’s keen to make amends. At the very least, he has to try.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: postscripts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836217
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97





	trying again

**Author's Note:**

> this can be read without reading the first fic in the series if you want, since I kinda go over the important details in this fic anyway!  
> also- this is dedicated to the several people in the thoschei discord who demanded a fluffy sequel <3

Stealing himself a new TARDIS is easy. Even the painful process of dragging the Cyberium out of his own body and containing it in a nice, solid glass box is relatively easy, compared to the monumentality of the main issue that’s on the Master’s mind. 

He can’t get Theta’s words out of his head. 

_Always, Koschei. Always_. 

If the Doctor loves him, she’s been terrible at showing it. Then again, so has he. 

So, he gets his new TARDIS to find his old TARDIS for him. He hasn’t seen his ship since Paris, in the 1940s, when the Doctor stole it from him. He’s missed his old home. 

The Doctor has abandoned it on some quiet little nowhere planet that doesn’t even have a name, and when he steps inside, the lights flicker; it’s been powered down for so many years. Well. At least she didn’t destroy his precious ship, he thinks, rubbing one hand fondly across the console. 

The Master doesn’t spend too long on teary reunions, though; he gets right down to business as soon as the power’s back on, checks the Doctor-tracking program that he set up on this ship long ago. 

Hm. 

What the _fuck_ is she doing in prison?

Well. Never mind that. He can ask questions once he’s got her out of there. It’s strange- he feels _protective_ , like...how _dare_ anyone imprison her. That’s _his_ job. 

It takes the Master half an hour to build up the nerve to rescue her. That seed of hope in his hearts is small, but it’s there, and part of him is terrified that the Doctor is going to crush it the moment he sees her. 

Unfortunately, the thing about hope is that it’s _persistent_ , and it keeps on whispering to him that maybe she won’t hate him, maybe this is their chance. 

So eventually, he grits his teeth and shoves his TARDIS into gear, and he steers it through a frankly _ridiculous_ amount of shielding to land it right in the middle of the Doctor’s cell. 

To her credit, she doesn’t look overly surprised when he lands. 

It’s only when he opens the door and steps out that her eyes go wide, and a dozen emotions cross her face in a second- relief, first of all, and the Master’s hearts flutter at that. But then there’s anger, weariness, resignation- like she’s expecting a fight. 

The Doctor squares her shoulders, stepping closer, and she looks exhausted. 

“What d’you want, Master?” Her tone is cold. 

She’s expecting him to make her beg to be released, or to be here only to gloat, or to try and kill her. For a second, he _is_ tempted to make her beg. Oh, it would only be fair, after how she humiliated him back on Gallifrey, but- _no_. Hope is a powerful force. He can see why she puts so much stock in it, now. 

The Master holds out a hand. The Doctor looks at it as though it’s going to explode. 

“I’m rescuing you, dear,” he says, just so it’s clear. “You might want to come on board.” 

“No.” The Doctor folds her arms. “Why? This is a trap. Everything’s always a trap, or a trick, or- _something_ bad. Got no reason to trust you.” 

The Master is about to respond when an alarm starts blaring, and suddenly numerous heavy boots are thundering down the corridor towards this cell. 

“That enough reason for you?” 

The Doctor glares. But apparently she’d rather face him than her jailers, because she brushes him aside, stepping into his TARDIS without taking his hand. Ouch. But fair enough, he supposes. 

She stands silently in the corner as he takes off, arms folded, looking absolutely sullen. Like she’s furious with herself for being here. And furious with him. 

Once they’re safely away from that place, the Master turns away from the console to face her. 

“You didn’t look surprised when I landed. Only when I stepped out. Expecting someone else?” 

The Doctor blinks. Clearly she’d been expecting him to _say_ something else, too. Well, when her view of him is so uncharitable, it’s probably a good thing that he keeps defying her expectations. 

“Sent my fam home in a TARDIS. Was kinda expecting Captain Jack to catch up to ‘em eventually, then he’d come find me. Figured he’d probably be able to fly one by now.” She doesn’t meet his eyes as she speaks, even for a second. They’re constantly moving, instead- darting around the interior of his ship, looking for traps. 

“Ah. Well. I’m not Captain Jack.” _Good_ , he thinks. That man is a freak of nature. Being around him makes every atom in the Master’s body crawl. Just because he’s trying a new approach with the Doctor, does _not_ mean that he has to be nice about her friends. 

“I can see that.” The Doctor stares at him for a minute, and he stares back. He can’t help himself; there’s a lot on his mind. What Theta had said to him, above all else. The idea that nothing could ever change how much they loved each other. Was it true? 

“Doctor,” he starts. 

“You’re staring at me like a lost puppy,” she says at the same time, and then they’re back to watching each other again, both now slightly more guarded. 

“Doctor,” he tries again. “How long were you in there?” 

“Why d’you want to know?”

_So I know how sky-high to bomb the place_ , the Master thinks. But there’s no way the Doctor would approve of that, so he just shrugs. “Curious.” 

“Two and a half weeks, ish. Not so easy to keep track of time in there. How long’s it been for you? You look...different.” 

“Eh...maybe twelve hours.” Less than that, probably. “Tried to get to you without too much of a time delay, but the shields around your cell were- _ridiculous_. Doubt your friend Jack could ever have gotten past them. Let alone your humans.” 

The Doctor prickles, like she wants to argue, and then she just shrugs and nods. They both know he’s a good pilot. And it takes a Time Lord to fly a TARDIS _properly_ , and none of the Doctor’s friends are one of those. 

“As for looking different...” The Master taps a button, and a glass box rises from the floor. Contained within is the Cyberium. The Doctor jumps back instinctively, then frowns, leaning curiously closer. 

“You trapped it,” she says, looking up at him, and for a moment she looks impressed. The expression is gone pretty quickly, though. “How?”

“Painfully,” he deadpans. “Long answer involves a lot of mental techniques I _really_ shouldn’t have tried on myself. Convinced it I was dying. Got it to leave. Stuck it in a box.” He kicked the box for good measure, and the Cyberium flared angrily, flattening itself against the glass like a mercury octopus. 

“Smart,” the Doctor says, straightening up and returning to her corner. The Master taps another button, and the Cyberium slides away again. “You got your old ship back, too. How? Actually, how are you even here? You should be-“ 

She bites her lip, doesn’t say ‘dead’. The Master doesn’t bother to finish her sentence for her, either. It’s easier this way. 

“Do you remember the columns in the Matrix chamber? Most of them were knocked over, but one wasn’t- that was a TARDIS. A shitty one. Barely escaped the Death Particle. My, ah...creations, they didn’t make it out.” 

The Doctor pulls a face, and he can tell she’s fighting the urge to say ‘good’. 

“TARDIS brought me back to an earlier version of Gallifrey. Stole another ship, then found _my_ ship. Suppose I should thank you for not destroying it.” He doesn’t much want to thank her for anything, really, but he knows how to play nice, and that seems to be a part of it. 

“Why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?” The Doctor uncrosses her arms, steps forward. “C’mon, Koschei, you’re slacking. Not even one attempt on my life.” 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” the Master says, clenching his fists. He’s not going to rise to the bait, not going to get angry. He can feel it bubbling away inside of him, but he squashes it down. Okay. Might as well come out with it. “I met your younger self. I met Theta.” 

_That_ catches her by surprise. The Doctor blinks, and frowns, and he can tell that she’s racking her memories for the encounter. “No, you didn’t,” she says, sounding more like she _wants_ her assertion to be true than anything else. 

“I did,” he insists. “You were about a hundred and fifty. We met under that old tree just outside my family’s estates. And then I hypnotised you, because you figured out who I was pretty much immediately and I couldn’t let you keep those memories.” 

The Doctor looks like she wants to be offended by that, to shout at him, but she only gets as far as opening her mouth before she quietly shuts it again, and nods. Just once, and a tiny frown pinches her forehead, like there’s something on her mind that she hates. 

“Suppose you are telling the truth,” she says. “An’ I’m not saying you are. You could still be lying. But- if you’re not- what’s any of this got to do with anything?” She folds her arms again, wrapping them tight around herself like it’s a comfort thing. 

“Theta was...very affectionate,” the Master says carefully, tapping one shoe on the ground and staring at it instead of at the Doctor. “Most of it was just- _fluff_ , you know. But, you said- well.” Ugh, he hated this. Nervousness? Come on, what was he, eighty? “You said you’d always love me. No matter what.” 

The Doctor says nothing. After a minute, the Master chances a glance up at her, and she’s practically vibrating with the effort of staying still, her hands gripping her arms so tightly that her knuckles have gone white. His gaze seems to snap her concentration, and she spins on her heel, suddenly starting to pace rapidly up and down. 

“I hate you,” she says, like it’s obvious. It is, really. “I hate you. You destroyed our planet. You tried to kill me, and my friends, and- I hate you.” 

“I know,” the Master says. He tries to keep his emotions out of his voice, but the two words come out softer than he wants them to. 

“I hate you,” the Doctor says again, and then she stops, and turns to face him. Her eyes are wild, conflicted. Desperate. “I shouldn’t have said I was more than you. I shouldn’t have abandoned you in Paris. Shouldn’t ever have done that, that was _awful_. The worst.” 

The Master straightens up, and the seed of hope in his hearts flares and explodes, shattering into fragments that all seem to start growing on their own. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s infuriating. He’s always been charming, always had the right words for the situation, and now they’ve abandoned him. All he can do is nod, and grip the edge of the console to stop himself from leaning too far forward towards her. 

“I’m sorry, Koschei,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. 

“You should be,” he says. Back when he’d been trapped on Earth, he’d imagined this moment a thousand times. Finally weaselling an apology out of the Doctor, then perhaps forcing her to her knees, or getting physical, or shouting until she was in tears. He’d come up with so many ways to torture her in that long seventy-seven years, and now, he doesn’t want to use any of them. 

The Master forces his hands to unclench from the console, and steps closer to her. Not all the way- perhaps half the distance between them, until there’s only five feet keeping them apart. “I’m sorry, too.” 

The Doctor doesn’t relax at all, but something in her face shifts. It’s almost imperceptible, invisible to anyone except for him. A little of the hardness in her expression has melted away. 

A simple two-word apology is woefully inadequate for the crimes they’ve both committed against each other, really. But it’s easier than listing everything out, dragging up all of the _shit_ until they’re both snarling at each other again, prowling in circles like wolves about to pounce. 

The Master takes a step closer. 

“What Theta said, about always loving me-“

“Don’t,” the Doctor says, and for a second he thinks she’s just going to double down on hating him. She doesn’t. “He was right. But don’t. Please.” 

“Okay,” he agrees. There’s so much he could say, and none of it seems even slightly adequate. His head is spinning, but he’s sure it’s fine. 

For now, he’ll be content with the knowledge that the Doctor does still love him. Even if she can’t talk about it. She cares. The Master thinks that he could exist happily for the rest of his lives, just on the knowledge that she cares. He’s starved for affection, desperate for even the slightest hint of positive attention. His encounter with Theta had proved that beyond doubt. 

“You’re staring at me again,” the Doctor says. He blinks. Had he been? It’s...hard to keep track of what his eyes are doing, his head has been through such a lot in the last day. 

“Didn’t mean to be,” he murmurs, his own voice sounding far away inside his head. 

“Uh... Koschei, you’re swaying,” the Doctor says, alarmed. 

So he is. 

“Fuck,” he says, and then his knees give out. 

The last thing the Master is aware of is the Doctor rushing forward to catch him, strong arms scooping him up, being held against her body. Then the world melts away to black. 

——

The Master wakes up in a bed with rich purple sheets that he doesn’t quite recognise, but he knows he’s on his own ship. Guest room, maybe. He blinks his eyes fully open, and although the light is only dim, the sudden brightness makes him groan. 

Immediately, there’s a noise at his side, and then the Doctor is leaning over him. Concern fills her features, and she doesn’t bother to hide it behind a mask. That’s how he knows she’s _really_ worried. 

“Your medbay scanners said you just needed to sleep it off,” she says. “But I thought- well, you got a bit _glowy_ , and-“ 

“‘M not dying,” he croaked, in a voice that sounded very much like he _was_. “My _head_ \- ow.” 

That was about as eloquent as he was going to get on that. His head felt like it had been stomped on several thousand times. Apparently removing a Cyberium, using hypnotic powers, almost getting caught up in a instant-death bomb, and dealing with several flavours of strong emotion all in one day (not necessarily in that order) wasn’t very good for a person. 

“Shh, Koschei. Rest.” 

The Master has no problem with obeying that particular order, and he sinks back into the dull, peaceful grey of sleep. 

When he wakes again, it’s to the faint sound of snoring. He glances around, spotting the Doctor passed out in a chair next to his bed, her head tipped right back and her arms slack at her sides. Vulnerable, he thinks immediately, and then he squashes that thought down and smiles. She’s _here_. 

He darts one arm out from under the covers to nudge her awake, withdrawing it and looking as innocent as he can as she starts and scrambles to sit upright. 

“Did you just...?” She trails off, shakes her head. “How’re you feeling.” 

“Shit,” the Master answers honestly. “But a bit less shit than before.” 

“Oh. Well, that’s good.” The Doctor taps her feet against the floor, looking half-pleased and half-awkward. 

“You stayed,” he says. 

She presses her lips together in a thin line, and shrugs. The frequency of her foot-tapping increases by about threefold, until it sounds like someone’s banging out a very bad Irish jig on his floor. 

“Thank you,” the Master manages, his voice as sincere as it can be when he still sounds a little bit like death. 

“You’re welcome,” the Doctor mumbles. “Couldn’t very well _leave_ you. I- care about you.” 

The Master sticks his left hand out from under the covers, rests it on her knee. The foot-tapping stills. She stares at his hand like she expects it to hurt, and then relaxes, and hesitantly rests one of her own on top of it. 

“You’re welcome to stay for a bit,” he offers. 

Maybe a day ago, by his timeline, he was furiously demanding that the Doctor end both of their lives with one of the most powerful weapons in the universe. 

She’s spent almost three weeks in a lonely, unforgiving prison since then, with nothing to do but think. 

The Master honestly does not know how she’s going to respond, at this point. This version of the Doctor is a little unpredictable, and a _lot_ reckless. 

“Yeah,” she says, taking his hand off of her knee and holding it properly with her own. “Okay. Okay, Kosch, I’ll stay with you.” 

Maybe she just means for the night. Maybe she means longer. The Master is too tired to care, to register anything much except the warm pressure of her hand in his. 

He smiles, small but bright and _open_ , and closes his eyes again. 

The hope in his hearts has blossomed into so many things- relief and responsibility, warmth and worry. They have something here, the start of a second chance, and he’s determined not to let it go. 

He squeezes the Doctor’s hand, and feels her squeeze it softly in return. Sleep rises up to take him again, and the Master lets it. He’s confident, more confident than he’s been in anything for a long time, that she’ll still be there when he wakes up. 

And then, they can build on that second chance. 

Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos appreciated as always <3


End file.
